


new tricks

by etben



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: “—I also like fucking,” David says.  “I mean.  If we’re talking about things that I like.”





	new tricks

**Author's Note:**

> leupagus audienced this in 100-word chunks, giddygeek wrangled my commas, and shinkicker kindly permitted me to write this instead of working on [redacted].

The first time David notices it is a few days after Patrick’s housewarming.

They’re coming home from drinks with Stevie, which in practical terms means that David is pretty far over the line from “delightfully tipsy” into “just fucking drunk”. Stevie can hold her liquor, is the thing, and David—well. He can hold slightly less of his liquor, apparently.

Patrick drove, because he’s a responsible human being and also it’s his turn to open tomorrow. He had one beer over the course of an hour and a half and spent the rest of the time laughing at David in a way that should probably be less attractive than it is. Patrick acts like he’s a nice person, but he’s actually the worst. No nice person would run his hands over David’s knee like that; no nice person would smirk at David like that.

David loves him—god, so much.

So David is perhaps less than perfectly sober, and Patrick is so delightfully stable and solid and good. David drapes himself over Patrick’s back while he’s trying to open the door to his apartment, kissing lazily at the side of Patrick’s neck.

“David.” Patrick’s voice is buzzy and delicious against David’s face. “David, that’s—that’s really not helpful.”

“Mmm.” But David knows that if Patrick wanted him to move, he’d make David move. In the meantime, he’s too warm and real and delightful in David’s arms for David to ever consider giving him up. Plus, bonus, he’s wearing the jeans that David snuck into his closet for Christmas, the ones he pretends he doesn’t know are new, and his ass looks _amazing_ , god. David would say it’s a crime, the way Patrick dresses, but on the other hand that means that David is the only one who knows how good Patrick’s ass is, which is—well. 

David has always liked things that are exclusive. 

So David thinks these things, and maybe he says these things, and maybe he grinds on Patrick a little—just a little, barely anything, really. He’s not even all the way hard, although probably he could get there if Patrick would stop fucking around with the front door and turn around and touch him.

Which Patrick does, abruptly. He leaves the keys in the lock and spins them around, pinning David to the door, his hands implacable on David’s hips, his mouth hot and urgent against David’s neck.

“God, David, do you even know—” Patrick cuts himself off with a bite to David’s collarbone, quick and vicious, then drops to his knees, nuzzling against the front of David’s Givenchy jeans. 

And, look, it’s not like David’s ever _not_ going to want a blowjob from Patrick, who sucks cock like he thinks he may never get another chance, greedy and demanding. Patrick’s mouth is a fucking revelation, an inspiration, and the reason for more than one burned dinner chez Brewer.

David undoes his jeans with unsteady hands, letting the tips of his fingers brush against Patrick’s mouth. Patrick’s hands are pressing him against the wall; David squirms just to feel Patrick dig in his fingers.

“Hold still,” Patrick says, and then his mouth is on David, sucking gently at the head of David’s dick, his tongue rubbing in insistent circles.

“Patrick, fuck.” There’s nobody in the other third floor apartment, so this is honestly pretty tame, but even just the visual—Patrick kneeling for him in the hallway, pinning him to the wall and sucking his dick so sweet and filthy—is a lot to handle.

“I love you like this,” Patrick says, pulling off. He licks his hand and starts to jack David slowly, leaning his forehead against David’s hip, staring up at David with his eyes wide. “I love feeling you get hard for me, I love having you in my mouth like this.” He licks the head of David’s dick and runs his tongue over his lips like he’s savoring the taste, then leans back in and sucks David down again.

It’s over quickly from there: Patrick’s hands are heavy and solid on David’s hips, and his mouth is merciless, sucking David hard and fast. David is pinned down, exposed and enfolded all at once, and it isn’t long before he’s stifling a groan in his elbow and coming in Patrick’s mouth.

“Um, _hi_ ,” David says, once he can breathe again. “Do you want to go inside now, or are you committed to this particular venue?” Patrick chuckles and turns the keys, guiding David into the apartment with a gentle hand on his waist and a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

Once they’re inside, though, David takes charge, steering Patrick over to the bed and hustling him out of his clothes.

“Do you want me to—or, okay,” Patrick says as David pushes his hands out of the way. “I’ll just let you handle that, then.” David gets Patrick naked and pushes him down onto the edge of the bed, then kneels down between Patrick’s spread legs.

“My turn,” David says, and leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Patrick’s balls.

Patrick always goes wild for this, his whole body electrified with pleasure. David’s favorite part is the noises he makes: a whine at the back of his throat, a gasping breath, a half-voiced groan. The louder he gets, the slower David goes, sucking languorously at soft, vulnerable skin while Patrick shivers above him. It’s achingly, devastatingly good, and David could do it for hours—if making Patrick come weren’t even better, that is.

But it is, so David pulls back, sucking messily on his fingers and looking up at Patrick.

“Fuck, David.” Patrick’s eyes are dark, his hair sticking up. “Fuck, please—” It’s a good look for him, hungry and needy. David doesn’t make him wait for it, just leans up to wrap his mouth around Patrick’s dick, sucking him deep and slow.

Patrick collapses back onto the bed with a moan, his hands clenching on the edge of the bed, hips twitching. David rides out the movement, then uses one hand to get Patrick’s leg over his shoulder and lets the other one drift down until he can brush his thumb over Patrick’s asshole.

They’ve done more than this, but this is still one of David’s favorite things: a slow, gentle rub against Patrick’s asshole, slick pressure on sensitive skin. Patrick’s leaking messily into his mouth and David swallows around it, savoring the stretch and the pressure and the burn at the back of his throat. Patrick’s thighs are shaking, his control splintering, and David pulls back just enough that he can taste it when Patrick comes.

“David—” Patrick pulls at him, grabby and uncoordinated, and David stands up and lets himself be dragged down onto the bed for a deep, searching kiss.

“So that was fun,” he says, when Patrick lets him up, and rolls away in time to dodge the slap Patrick aims at his hip.

From there it’s the usual: cleaning up, arguing about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher (Patrick’s turn, definitely), curling up together in bed.

Still, something about it sticks with David as he’s drifting off with Patrick’s arm snug around his waist. The way Patrick had moved with David pressed against him; the curve of his spine; the way he’d pushed back, just a bit, sweet and wanting under David’s hands.

It’s something to think about.

***

After that, it’s like something clicks into focus: the way Patrick leans against tables. The tilt of his hips. The way he melts back against David when David comes up behind him and kisses the side of his neck. The flush on his face when David slips his hand into the back pocket of Patrick’s godawful jeans while they’re walking around the Harvest Festival.

“Are we—David, are you seriously—?” He shakes his head and looks away. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” David says. “Is there a problem?” He squeezes, just barely, just with the tips of his fingers, and watches Patrick’s ears turn redder.

It’s an interesting thing, is all. David’s interested.

***

It comes to a boil a few weeks later. They’re arguing about something stupid and Patrick makes a comment about David being picky and set in his ways, which is total bullshit.

“That’s total bullshit,” David says, and Patrick actually rolls his eyes, the asshole. “Excuse me, just because I have exquisite taste—”

“David, you know I love you, but you hate trying new things.”

“I try new things all the time!”

Patrick smirks and leans against the back of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really? Name one.”

“We tried a new restaurant last week!”

“And you spent fifteen minutes complaining about the texture of their fettuccine.” It was probably closer to twenty, actually, but somehow David doesn’t think that’s going to help his case here.

“What about—we just got that new moisturizer!”

Patrick shakes his head. “From a vendor we’ve been working with for a year.”

“I watched that new show with you last week!”

“You did,” Patrick agrees. “But you spent the first ten minutes texting Stevie—”

“—okay, she had a legitimate flannel crisis, that’s not fair—”

“—and the rest of the episode sucking my dick.”

“Well, I didn’t hear you complaining _then_ ,” David says, “unless _oh god David you’re so amazing please_ is secretly your way of expressing displeasure, which, honestly—”

“David.” Patrick’s smile is soft and affectionate. “I’m not complaining.” He holds out an arm and David can’t resist, steps forward and lets Patrick hold him. “You like what you like, and I love that about you,” Patrick continues, gentle. “I love that I get to be the person who knows what you like.”

“Oh, well, in _that case_.” It’s hard to be snippy when Patrick is sincere like this; it’s completely disarming and _deeply_ unfair. “What do I like, oh expert?” He loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and leans back, trusting Patrick to hold him up.

Patrick tilts his head. “You like light roast coffee with a lot of sugar. Black and white sweaters, obviously. Expensive skincare and cheap wine. Romantic comedies from the early 2000s.”

“All true,” David agrees. “But also all objectively the right choices, I would argue.” He shakes his head. “Also, I’m pretty sure that most of Schitt’s Creek could tell you those things.”

“Fair enough.” Patrick bites his lip in thought. “You like sleeping in but you don’t like napping.”

“Why would I want to fuck up my hair in the middle of the day?”

“You like cashmere for sweaters but not for socks.”

“Cashmere socks are tacky.” David sniffs. “Although before you start: no, those socks you wear are not better.” _Smart wool_ , honestly.

“Noted.” Patrick leans in for a kiss, which David generously grants him.

“You like getting your dick sucked,” Patrick says, his voice low and rough.

“Most people with dicks like that.”

“Mmm, true.” This kiss is dirtier, a hint of teeth and a flash of tongue. “You like sucking my dick.”

“Well, it’s—” David swallows. “It’s a nice dick.”

“You like getting fucked,” Patrick says, and _god_ , David does like that, and he likes the sound of that word in Patrick’s mouth even more. David holds his breath, waiting for Patrick to keep going, and Patrick—

—bites at David’s collarbone, gently and then again, which, okay, yes, excellent, except—

“—I also like fucking,” David says. “I mean. If we’re talking about things that I like.”

Patrick pulls back, his eyes hazy, then blinks hard. “You—wait, what?”

“I like fucking,” David says. “Penetrative sex. Pitching.” He bites his lip. “I’d like to fuck you, if you think—if that’s something you’d like.”

“I,” Patrick says. “Um, I’m sorry, can we just—”

“Or not, you don’t have to, sorry, that was—”

“No, David, I—David!” Patrick rests his hand on David’s neck, warm and reassuring. “I’m not complaining; I was just surprised.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to David’s cheek. “I—you never said.”

“I mean.” The tag at the back of Patrick’s t-shirt is sticking up; David smoothes it down with his thumb, tucking it against the warm skin of Patrick’s back. “I’ve done a lot of things.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want to push you into anything.”

“So you were just—never going to say anything?” Patrick frowns. “You can ask for things, David.”

“Um, I think we have ample evidence that I don’t have any problem asking for things.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m easy, Patrick,” he says. “I like a lot of things.” Patrick doesn’t look convinced, so David rests his forehead against Patrick’s. “I’m not going to die just because I haven’t gotten to bend you over a table.” 

“Um.” Patrick’s voice is choked and strange, and David leans back to look him in the eye. Or tries to, anyway: Patrick is staring intently past David’s left ear with a dull red flush climbing steadily up his neck.

“...unless you’d like me to bend you over a table, that is.”

“I. Um.” Patrick swallows. “Hadn’t really thought about it?” His voice is steady but his hands are like iron on David’s shoulders, his breath coming faster. “I am now, though,” he says quietly. “I— _fuck_ , David.”

“So just to be clear, that’s a yes?” Patrick glares at him, all heat and annoyance, and David kisses him gently in apology. “You’re saying that you want me to bend you over the table and fuck you?” He thinks about Patrick’s table for a second. “Or, okay, maybe not this table specifically, I don’t think it’s up to the job, but—”

“Yes,” Patrick says, rushed and breathless. “God, yes.” He squeezes his eyes closed, then opens them and pins David with a look. “Fuck me, please.”

And, well. David’s hardly going to say no to _that_.

***

It takes about five minutes for David get them both naked and onto the bed. Patrick is hard and leaking already; David tucks a pillow under Patrick’s hips, presses a kiss to the top of his thigh, and gets his mouth around that gorgeous dick.

“Not that I’m— _fuck_ —complaining,” Patrick says, “but I thought you were going to—” He cuts himself off in a shuddering gasp as David rubs a lubed-up knuckle firmly over his asshole. It’s hard to smirk with his mouth full of dick, but David looks up the bed at Patrick and flatters himself that he’s making his point.

They’ve done this before, at least: David stretching Patrick carefully on his fingers, running his tongue over the head of Patrick’s dick. David has always liked the visceral immediacy of sucking dick, and it’s even better with Patrick, feeling him shake and arch and knowing that nobody else has ever done this for him. That noise, that quiver in Patrick’s thighs, that soft vulnerable patch of skin behind Patrick’s balls: those are _his_ , property of David Rose.

It’s possessive and weird and probably doesn’t reflect particularly well on David as a person, but oh well. If it comes down to having this or being a good person, David will take this any day. Would, in fact, take this any day, every day, twice a day if he thought he could get it. Patrick is so controlled most of the time, and David loves it, but he loves this too: the way Patrick feels inside, the way he tries and fails not to fuck David’s mouth, the taste of him bitter and overwhelming on the back of David’s tongue.

Today, though, he’s not trying to make Patrick come—not yet, at least—so David pulls off after a few minutes, rubbing his cheek against Patrick’s thigh and curling his fingers gently.

“You okay?”

“Mmm.” Patrick rolls his hips slow and filthy against David’s hand. “Yeah, that feels—nice.”

“Nice?” David spreads his fingers and twists his wrist. “Really, just _nice_?”

Patrick drops his head back against the pillow and spreads his thighs, but David can still hear the smirk in his voice. “Really nice, yeah,” he says, and that’s it, that’s enough.

“I’ll show you nice,” David says, and pulls his fingers out. Patrick gasps at the loss of sensation, which just serves him right, the smartass, but David kisses Patrick’s hip in apology anyway.

“Do you want to—like this? or you can turn over, or—”

“I, um.” Patrick rolls to one side, unsteady, and there’s a moment of awkward re-arrangement that ends with Patrick spread out in front of David, braced on his elbows and knees, looking back over his shoulder with his eyes hot and dark. “Like this, I think? I mean, if you want—”

“Oh, I want,” David says, settling between Patrick’s legs and running a hand up his back. “I _definitely_ want.” He leans up over Patrick to reach for a condom but stops when Patrick puts a hand on his wrist.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick says. “I mean—we don’t, when it’s you.” Which is true enough; they both got tested months ago, and David greatly prefers being fucked bare, so they haven’t bothered.

“Okay, but—if you want me to, that’s fine too.” David kisses the side of Patrick’s neck, just under his ear; he can feel the shiver travel all the way down Patrick’s spine, like this. “I like it better without, but if you don’t—” Another kiss, another shiver. “Whatever you want is fine.” He rests his head against the back of Patrick’s shoulder, waiting, letting Patrick think about it.

“—I want it,” Patrick says, after a moment. “I mean, I don’t—I want you to fuck me,” he takes a breath, deep enough that David can feel it, “without—without a condom.” Patrick heaves out a sigh, and David kisses the back of Patrick’s neck, runs a hand down the trembling muscle of Patrick’s side.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says. “And just to be clear, do you also want me to come in you?”

“ _David_ —” Patrick makes an agonized sound and collapses face-first into the pillow.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” David says, and settles back to position himself. “Let me know if you have any requests.”

The first press into Patrick’s ass is excruciatingly good: heat and pressure and the arch of Patrick’s back under him, the harsh desperate sound Patrick makes. David slides in slowly, digging his fingers into Patrick’s hips and breathing through the urge to go hard and fast.

“David, oh.” Patrick shifts his weight and eases back against David. “Oh, that’s—” He shivers and rolls his hips.

“Yeah?” David soothes a hand along Patrick’s spine. “Tell me.”

“It’s really, really—” Patrick makes a noise in the back of his throat, cut-off and guttural. “It’s really nice, David,” he says, and that’s just—that’s it, that is absolutely one hundred percent _it_ , David is done playing. He wraps his hands around Patrick’s hips and pulls almost all the way out, then braces himself and pushes back in, firm and merciless. Patrick groans, and David does it again, snapping his hips forward and setting up a rhythm: not fast, but steady and relentless.

“How’s that, hmm,” he says, as he bottoms out in Patrick’s ass. “Do you like that?” David likes it, that’s for sure: Patrick shivering under and around him, slick sweet friction between them.

“David, yes—” Patrick’s breathing heavily, shoving his hips back greedily, and David is more than happy to oblige him. “Fuck, oh, I need—” David pauses with just the tip of his dick inside of Patrick, waiting, but Patrick just hisses out a breath and clenches down, hard. He’s jerking himself off, David realizes, and the idea sends a wash of heat through his body.

“Yeah, go on, touch yourself,” David says, driving back in to Patrick’s body. “Fuck your hand, make yourself come, let me feel you, Patrick, just like that—” David can’t see Patrick’s orgasm, a criminal oversight on his part, but he can feel it, the tension building and then cresting in Patrick’s body, the clench and shudder of overworked muscles, the sudden looseness in Patrick’s spine. 

David fucks Patrick through it, his thrusts slowing, then leans down to brush a gentle kiss against the back of Patrick’s neck before he pulls out. “Shh, I know,” he says, when Patrick makes a wounded noise, “I know, this part is weird, sorry—”

“Is that all?” 

“Excuse me?”

Patrick has his head tilted to one side and is taking deep breaths; his eyes are mostly closed, but he opens them enough to stare at David. “Thought you said you were going to come in me,” he says, and rolls his hips back against David’s. 

“I—” David can’t breathe, suddenly, overwhelmed with love and desire for this filthy fucking angel of a man. “Are you—”

“I’m sure,” Patrick says. "Come on, David, fuck me."

It’s incendiary, hearing those words in Patrick’s pleasure-drunk voice, and David gives a sharp thrust, completely involuntary. Patrick moans underneath him, low and desperate, and David—well. 

David maybe loses his mind a little bit. Honestly, it’s the only reasonable response.

Without even really thinking about it, he’s pushing Patrick’s knees wider, shoving his weight against Patrick’s back and riding him down against the mattress to grind into him deep and dirty. Patrick shudders and David bites his shoulder, right at the base of Patrick’s neck where the skin is sweaty and flushed.

“David, oh—” Patrick sounds dazed and helpless, but his hips keep hitching back like he just can’t stop himself. “David, please, _please_ —” Patrick scrabbles at David’s wrist, braced on the bed, and pulls until David’s hand is on his dick, which is still hard, _fuck_. “David, I need—”

“Oh, I know what you need,” David says, running his hand through the mess on Patrick’s belly, on the sheets. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He makes his grip tight and lets Patrick set the pace, rocking forward into David’s hand and back onto David’s dick, gasping and swearing. It’s lewd and intimate and beautiful: Patrick stripped of all his defenses and turned into a creature of frantic, helpless need, trembling in David’s arms.

“God, David, yes, please—” It’s good, it’s _too_ good, and David sets his teeth in Patrick’s shoulder and lets go, coming inside Patrick in a hot rush. Underneath him, Patrick makes a shocked noise and tightens on David’s dick, his hips jerking. “Oh,” Patrick says, after a minute. “Oh, that’s—”

“Nice?” David can barely breathe, but Patrick is still hard in his hand. “Hang on, I’ve got you.” He pulls out and kneels up, pushing his hair out of his face, then slides down the bed and shoves three fingers into Patrick’s ass, curling them to press hard against his prostate. “How’s that?”

“That’s good, David, that’s so good—” but Patrick is still making words, so David pulls out and gives him a fourth finger, rubbing his thumb along Patrick’s rim where he’s stretched tight.

“How about that?” Patrick’s mouth is open, but he doesn’t make a noise, just gasps for breath and nods into the pillow. “Yeah, I thought so,” David says, and leans in to kiss the back of Patrick’s thigh. “That’s right, just let me take care of you.” Patrick’s whole body is shaking, wound tight, and David fucks him hard, harder, gives it to him until Patrick is almost sobbing.

“David,” he says, “David, _please_ ,” and David leans in and licks around his fingers, teasing at Patrick’s rim with the tip of his tongue, and Patrick jerks like he’s been struck by lightning and comes again, wild and wonderful. David gentles him through it, pressing delicate kisses to the backs of Patrick’s thighs as Patrick shivers. 

When Patrick’s breathing is more or less back to normal, David pulls his fingers out as carefully as possible and helps Patrick roll over; he flops bonelessly onto his back and David lies down next to him.

“So,” Patrick says. “That was—”

“If you say ‘nice’, Patrick Brewer, I swear to god—” Patrick cuts him off with a kiss, lush and gentle.

“I was going to say _amazing_ , actually,” he says. He kisses David again, long and lingering, and pulls until they’re cuddled up together with David’s head resting on Patrick’s shoulder. “Although I guess ‘nice’ also applies.” David glares at him and Patrick kisses his forehead, which is so meltingly sweet that David decides, out of the generosity of his heart, to let it slide for now.

“More to the point,” he says instead, “I think this proves pretty conclusively that I am very, _very_ good at trying new things.”

“I mean,” Patrick says. “Technically, I’m pretty sure that _I_ tried something new—”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Patrick is laughing into his hair and running his hand along David’s shoulders, lazy and fucked-out and delighted. “Unbelievable,” David says, cuddling closer and kissing the smooth skin of Patrick’s neck. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

“That’s definitely the word,” Patrick agrees, and pulls the blankets over them. They should really get up, _clean_ up—Patrick won’t thank David tomorrow if he lets them go to sleep now—but David lets himself be held, lets himself sink down against Patrick, warm and safe and loved.

“And, I mean,” he adds, his face pressed against Patrick’s shoulder, “if you really want to get fucked over the table, we can make that work.”

They’ve got time to try a lot of new things, and it’s not like David’s stuck in his ways.

**Author's Note:**

> be the filth you want to see in the world, people.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] new tricks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469221) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




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